


Fixation

by Greenie (hidetheteaspoons)



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Dirty Thoughts, F/M, Oral Fixation, Thirsty babies, also oblivious, awkward staring, hot and bothered
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23769946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidetheteaspoons/pseuds/Greenie
Summary: Cormoran and Robin observe (and internally drool over) each other doing mouth stuff.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 28
Kudos: 91





	1. Two Down

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I felt like writing a "sexy thoughts" fic! I don't know how deep I'm going to explore this concept, but I'm considering a smutty chapter. This will be *at least* two chapters, with the first being from Cormoran's perspective and the second being from Robin's. Hope you enjoy!

Cormoran Strike was distracted, to say the least. 

He'd woken up on the flatulent couch in a near stupor, having little memory of the previous evening. There had been a pint, or several, involved at some point. 

Robin had already arrived and offered her usual cheerful morning greeting and cup of coffee. Strike had readily accepted, but not before falling back to sleep for mere minutes. 

He awoke once more with a start, eyes fluttering sleepily while searching his surroundings. His gaze fell to Robin, who was engrossed in a particularly challenging crossword puzzle. 

“Morning,” she greeted once again. “Sleep well?”

“Not bloody really,” he grumbled and groaned as he sat up, the couch making a chorus of noises beneath him. 

“What did you in?” Robin asked, curiously.

“Few pints, I think. Don't r’member much.”

Robin smiled at his appearance and demeanor. He had been reduced to that of a tired little boy, with his tousled curls going every which way, and his eyes slowly adjusting to the morning light. His voice was low husky and reverberated throughout the room. He was quite a sight to behold.

She snapped out of her thoughts just as quickly as she dove into them. She laid her crossword and pen down on her desk. “Coffee’s cold by now, I'll put on a fresh batch?”

“That'd be great, thanks. Sorry I missed the first round.”

“No trouble,” she assured him after retreating to the kitchen nook. When she returned, she collapsed in her chair and let out a sigh. It had been a slow morning and luckily for Cormoran, there were no major client appointments until later that afternoon. 

After a few moments, Robin went to retrieve their coffee. Strike was greeted with the delicious smell of earthy goodness and another smell, a lighter, more floral note. _Robin._

“Thanks,” he nodded, as she handed him the mug he'd gotten from Lucy a few Christmases back, indicating his fondness for his place of birth. 

Robin leaned back into her computer chair and picked up her newspaper puzzle once again. 

“Crosswords, eh?” Cormoran asked, in an attempt to break the quiet that started growing between them.

“Yeah,” she responded, smiling slightly. “My mum and I used to do them together on the weekends. They just remind me of simpler times, I ‘spose. People don't really read the papers too often these days.” 

He nodded in understanding as he took a long pull on his coffee, burning his tongue slightly in the process.

The silence re-settled between them as Robin returned her attention to her puzzle. 

“I'm stuck on two down. Eight letter word for ‘an obsessive interest’? Any ideas?”

“Hmm. I'll have to think about that one…” he trailed. 

Cormoran was indeed thinking, but it wasn't about the puzzle. He leaned back against the sofa and sipped his coffee, groaning slightly as he stretched out his forever-hurting leg. 

As he relaxed, he fell deeper into thoughts of Robin. They had settled into their old, familiar ways following her divorce from Matthew. She was no longer a caged bird, living cautiously under her ex-husband’s influence. She was a free spirit and had been for well over a year. She was happy, caring, and determined. She was everything he wanted and never thought he'd have. Yet, here she was. 

Strike looked at his partner, his mouth falling slightly open at the sight of her. In the early morning light, she was luminous. The sun's rays streamed through the windows and bathed her pale, creamy skin in a hazy yellow glow. Her legs were propped on her desk with her slender calves crossed as she leaned back in her chair. Her brows were furrowed in frustration at the paper in her hands. Robin's rose-gold hair framed her face that held the features he loved the most.

The one thing that he allowed himself to admire, perhaps too much, was her mouth. It was small and pink and perfect. At the moment, her pen was caught in between her teeth and she rolled it slightly in her fingers in concentration. Cormoran closed his eyes and willed himself to think of anything but her. Inanimate objects. _Rocks. Pencils. Picture frames. Lamps._

It was no use. The pen was still there, in between her lips, torturing him. The things she could do with her mouth. He thought briefly of her lips on his, biting and pulling and _wanting_ ; her eyes looking up at him as she...Cormoran felt a jolt of heat and a stirring at his groin. He shifted slightly so as to conceal the physical evidence of his thoughts. He failed to bite back a groan, quickly disguising it as a noise of pain. He wasn't embarrassed about his fixation, but was frustrated to all hell that he couldn't do anything about it. _Fixation_. Bugger. 

“Are you alright?” Robin asked, concerned when she heard Cormoran groan. 

“Just hurting,” he lied

“Anything I can do?”

_If only you could._

“Nah, thanks. I'll be alright after I get freshened up.”

She hummed in acknowledgment as he rose from the couch, turning away from her slightly. He headed up the stairs to his flat, but before he reached the top of the stairwell, he turned his head over his shoulder slightly. 

“Robin?” he called.

“Yeah?”

“Fixation,” he stated bluntly. 

“Sorry?” she asked, confused. 

“Two down. Obsessive interest. Fixation.”

“Ah, thanks!”

Cormoran turned and continued up the stairs. He was going to need a long, cold shower. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr @thegreendress or @hidetheteaspoons!


	2. Burnin' Up for You, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin finds herself hot and bothered during tea with her partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! If you're here, that means you've probably read the first chapter of this series. Thanks for sticking with it! I've decided to table the potential smut for now (though I hope to write some soon). Rather, this will be a series of short fics detailing Robin and Cormoran's attraction to each other, particularly those of an oral nature. Rating will likely remain the same. The number of chapters is open-ended for now. I hope you enjoy chapter two!

Robin walked into the office on Friday morning and went through her usual routine of placing her coat and scarf on the rack, turning on the tea kettle, and calling a friendly greeting through the hallway to her partner.

"Morning,” she addressed him, cheerfully. Robin had always been a morning person and all too often had been faulted for it. Strike didn't seem to mind as he always greeted her in return. It wasn't always friendly, but he made a point to acknowledge her presence, which gave her a certain kind of comfort.

After brewing their tea, she headed to his office to deliver it. She found him by the window, cigarette in his mouth, staring down at Denmark Street. She had entered the room silently and he'd not yet noticed her. Robin admired the scene before her; it was simple, it was like home. He was like some painting in a museum - "Man smokes by window”. Robin cleared her throat so as not to startle him.

"Tea?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"God yes, thank you," he muttered, appreciatively. 

Robin handed him the steaming mug and hesitated, hovering in place for a moment. Sometimes he invited her to join him and other times, he preferred to take his tea alone.

Noticing her hesitation, he extended a hand and gestured toward the empty chair, hoping that she would stay with him for just a little while longer. Both receiving their wish, Robin settled into the seat where their clients usually poured their hearts out to Comoran.

"Let me finish and we can get to work,” he told her in a slightly muffled voice, which was attributed in part to the lit cigarette that occupied the space in between his lips. Robin nodded automatically, willing herself not to consider all the other things that could occupy that space…

It was no use, her mind had already wandered to the place she hadn't meant for it to go. Lips, fingers, skin...She crossed her legs and blushed slightly at the thought of Comoran's mouth on her; on the other places he could taste, lick, suck…

Robin shifted uncomfortably at the light fluttering sensation between her legs. She felt her face grow hotter and hotter by the moment and it clearly wasn’t because of the tea. At that moment, she registered the soft hum of his voice and the questioning look on his face. His mouth was parted slightly, his eyebrows raised in concern, and he leaned forward, attempting to get Robin's attention.

"Robin?” he asked, the unmistakable sound of concern caused his voice to waiver ever so slightly.

"Hmm?" she responded, rather dreamily.

Then, like a rubber band, her mind snapped back to attention, to the present. "God, Cormoran. I'm so sorry. What was it that you said?"

"I just asked if you were alright?" he repeated, removing the cigarette from between his lips. "You look a little...flushed."

Robin's hands immediately flew up to her face, as if she would be able to hide her apple red cheeks from him. "Do I really?” she asked, feigning innocence.

"C'mere,” he instructed, leaning toward her in his rickety desk chair.

"What-"

He had removed the cigarette from his mouth and stubbed it out in the marble blue ashtray. Before she realized what her body was doing, Robin found herself moving ever-so-closely toward Cormoran, his hands reaching upward to her face.

She panicked. Was he really going to do this? Was he going to kiss her? Did he feel it too? This thing between them was so delicate and uncharted. Robin closed her eyes and braced herself for the impact of whatever was about to take place between them.

Robin felt rough-hewn hands on her cheeks and warm lips gently caress her forehead. Her eyelids opened and fluttered shut once more, and she sighed beneath his touch. She was mistaken in thinking that Comoran hadn't noticed her entire body melt beneath his mouth on her forehead. Cormoran allowed himself to linger for a few seconds longer than necessary. Robin didn't mind in the slightest.

Eventually, she felt Comoran pull away and clear his throat, "You feel a little warm, but I don't think it's warm enough to be a fever," he told her in an unmistakably husky voice.

"Thanks," she muttered, nearly breathless. Her eyes were once more drawn to the space between his lips. How badly she wanted to claim it; claim _him_ as her own. His lips were deep pink and inviting. Robin hovered in front of him momentarily, then reclaimed her spot in the chair. At present, her attention was brought to a particular dampness that had formed in her knickers.

"Bollocks,” she said aloud, unintentionally. Robin mentally kicked herself as she scrambled to find an excuse for her sudden outburst.

Comoran quickly looked up from the file he'd been perusing, amused to find an embarrassed pout on his partner's face. He started to address her, but she hastily stood before he could speak.

"I um...I just ah....I'm off to the loo...thought I'd go down and grab us a tea?"

'We've already got tea, Ellacott. Are you sure you're alright?" Comoran pressed, growing concerned.

Yes I...I just need some air. Be back in twenty?"

Comoran nodded in agreement and Robin exited the office in a flurry, away from her partner, and away from his tantalizing mouth. Before she opened the door, she took a calming breath and touched the spot where his lips had brushed, then sighed. Her skin tingled, but the butterflies had finally settled in her lower belly.

She slowly pushed open the door and made her way out onto the busy street, resolved to think about anything other than the man she'd just left...the man she was growing more and more attracted to with every passing day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr @thegreendress or @hidetheteaspoons!


	3. All Tied Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin shares her secret talent with Strike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let it be known that I have no idea where this chapter came from. It just...manifested itself really. I did absolutely zero research on ice cream shops on London. I absolutely did make up a bit of backstory in order to be able to include the two things I wanted most out of this chapter. I hope it isn't too far-fetched! Anyway, enjoy this brief, flirty encounter which contains a sultry Robin, a secret talent, and a turned-on Strike. Thank you all for your kind comments!
> 
> P.S. Please mind the rating change to M as things have gotten a little more steamy! Just in case 😉

“Tottenham?” Strike asked Robin one Friday evening as he exited his office. How he hoped she'd join him. Friday nights with her were the highlight of his week. Well really, any time spent with her was the highlight of his week. 

Her mischievous blue-grey eyes twinkled up at him and she slowly shook her head. His heart sank and he joked to mask his disappointment. 

“Ah well, you must have a hot date, then?” He probed curiously.

A pink flush slowly covered Robin's porcelain skin and she shook her head once more. “I was only going to suggest a change of scenery, if you'd like?”

His heart soared once more, but outwardly, he frowned. “You mean for us to go somewhere else?” 

“Mhm,” she murmured in response as she powered off her computer. “It's a nice night. I could do with some fresh air. Come with me to my favorite place tonight?”

“Yeah, alright,” he agreed, trying not to seem too eager about the prospect of going somewhere new with her. 

“It's in walking distance, does that work for you?” She asked, mindful of his leg. 

Strike nodded as he held the glass door bearing their names open for her and followed her down the stairs. 

They stepped out onto Denmark Street with Robin leading the way. They walked in a companionable silence for a few minutes and stopped suddenly in front of a colorful, brightly-lit shop with cafe tables and chairs out front. 

Strike smirked, glancing sideways at Robin. “You're not serious?” He asked in an amused tone of voice. 

“You bet your arse I am,” she replied, blushing once more. She looped her arm through his. “C’mon then,” she smiled, all but dragging him toward the entrance. 

Inside, the shop was composed of neon lights and pastel-painted walls. The air was sweet, thick with the smell of chocolate and waffle cones. “I can't believe you brought me to a bloody ice cream shop,” Strike teased, earning an eye roll from his partner.

“Oi, quit complaining, you. They've got pints too,” she replied, shoving a menu against his broad chest.

“Thank fuck for that,” he muttered, almost inaudibly. 

“It's not just ice cream y’know,” she continued, her round Yorkshire vowels becoming more pronounced on the last word. “They've got boozy milkshakes.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Strike admitted. 

Robin grinned as they stepped up to the counter and placed their orders. In addition to many different options for ice cream and milkshakes, the shop also served sandwiches and crisps. Strike was pleasantly surprised and settled at a table outside while he waited for Robin to join him. He took a long pull on his pint and enjoyed the views of the sunset over London, the still-bustling city streets, and suddenly, the golden-haired beauty before him. She carried two large plates with their food and set them down before him. 

“Bless you,” he said to her, almost affectionately. 

“Right back, got to grab my drink.”

He nodded, already digging into the crisps. 

When she returned, she carried a large glass that contained a chocolate-y looking concoction that was smothered with whipped cream, hot fudge, and a bright red cherry. 

Robin plopped down in her chair and plucked the cherry off, popping the juicy fruit into her mouth. 

Strike felt a stirring at his groin and bit his lip, willing the impure thoughts he'd just had about his partner to fade away. He chuckled in amusement, looking down at his food as if it was the most interesting at that moment. “Y’know,” he started, “I used to know a girl who could -”

Before he could finish his statement, he looked up at Robin, who was smiling devilishly. Her fingers rose to her mouth and reached between her teeth, and she produced the stem from her cherry - in a perfectly tied knot. She held it up for him to admire her art.

Strike felt _all_ the blood in his body rush downward. He bit back a groan, disguising it as well-placed swearing. “ _Christ,_ Ellacott,” he whispered so only she could hear him. “Where the bloody hell did you learn how to do that?”

Robin smiled at his eager response, then faded slightly. Her smile gave way to a less enthusiastic emotion and he knew he'd touched a nerve, somehow. 

“S’ Alright, yeh don't have to tell me…” he trailed.

She looked away briefly before responding and Strike was sure he'd startled her with his unbridled enthusiasm. Just as he started to apologize, Robin caught his eye and began to speak.

"It was the summer after I'd left uni and went home to mom and dad." Robin looked at him pointedly, and he nodded to indicate that he understood her meaning and silently encouraged her to continue.

"My brothers...they...knew how bad off I was. We never talked about what happened, but they knew. Like Matthew, they thought I was delicate and needed to be put back together. Unlike Matthew, they found creative ways to distract me instead."

Strike unconsciously shook his head at the mention of Robin's ex-husband but remained silent. He hated the bastard for what he put Robin through. "Bet he enjoyed it then, the twat," Strike murmured aloud, before realizing what he'd said. 

His eyes widened in horror and his gaze met Robin's. Her eyes were dark and stormy, yet serious and focused. "He...didn't know. I never shared anything with him about those months I spent in Masham after the attack. You're the first person outside of my brothers that's seen that. Is it strange that I never told Matthew?" She asked, seeming conflicted.

He was unsure if the question was rhetorical or not, but gave an answer anyway. "No, it isn't. Whatever you did during that time, you did it for a reason and you don't owe anyone an explanation. Least of all me."

She gazed at him for a long time and nodded slightly before she continued her story. "Anyway, they came up with weekly competitions. We took turns picking new things to do or try. We put in a few quid and whoever figured it out first won the pot. Sometimes if we didn't have any money, we'd put in bids for chores instead. Winner wouldn't have to do dishes for two weeks or the loser would get up early and feed the animals. I learned a lot that summer," she reminisced.

"So this,” Strike gestured to the cherry stem on Robin's napkin, “was one of those competitions?"

"Right," Robin replied, smiling brightly

Strike felt himself tense up at the thought of Robin's tongue lolling and twisting, working the stem into a tight knot. His thoughts quickly turned to what her tongue could possibly do to _him._ He willed away his impending erection by digging his fingernails so deep into the palms of his hands that they left crescent-shaped marks.

It was symbolic, really. Robin tied him up in knots. She unknowingly twisted him and teased him with her golden hair, her pouty lips, her work ethic, her shapely legs, her kindness, her dedication, her curvy hips, her loyalty, her intelligence, and her strength in the face of adversity. And now, with her secret sexual talents that turned him on. Immensely.

He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. He jumped at the brush of her hand on his and the concerned tone in her voice.

"Are you alright, Cormoran?"

He was brought back to the present, back to her. He smiled slightly, “Yeh. 'M alright. Knackered, actually."

"Ah well, maybe you'll get your second wind on the walk home?" she responded.

"Maybe so," he agreed, not ignoring the fact that she'd just referred to Denmark Street as ‘home’. Leaning his head back and taking a long pull on his pint, he continued, “Now tell me, what else did you learn that summer?"

She smiled warmly and launched into her next story, with Cormoran hanging on to her each and every word.


	4. Thirsty AF

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thirst is real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta-ed, read with caution.

It was nearly quitting time when Robin’s stomach emitted a rather embarrassingly loud rumble that caused Strike to look up from his paperwork with a teasing grin. “Do I need to feed you, Ellacott?”

Though she knew he didn’t mean it literally, Robin felt a certain kind of warmth at the thought of her partner’s hands anywhere near her mouth. “I suppose I could eat something.”

“I could always eat something,” Strike replied as he stood up and stretched his arms high above his head, releasing a loud groan as he did so. 

Robin felt a shudder run through her at the sound of Strike’s guttural groan, which was not unlike what she would imagine he sounded like in...other places. As his arms continued to stretch, his blue button-down shirt raised slightly above his trousers. Robin was treated to a surprisingly pleasant view of Strike’s lower abdomen, which looked soft, yet slightly toned.

He took a small, stuttered step forward, attempting to regain feeling in his stump after having sat at his desk for so long. Strike attempted to bite back a string of curses and a hiss at the initial pain he felt, but was unable to do so. “Buggering bastard leg,” he muttered, setting one hand on the desk in an effort to relieve the tingling sensation that now occurred in his aching limb.

“Are you alright?” Robin asked, concerned as she took a step nearer. 

Strike put up a hand to stop her and muttered, “‘M fine, nothing a little walk won’t take care of. Been hurt a lot worse than this. Got my leg blown off, yeh know?” He smiled that infamous lopsided half-smile that made Robin’s heart beat just a little bit faster.

She rolled her eyes at his awful attempt at humor and grabbed her coat, slinging it over her head and around her body, followed by a plum-colored cashmere scarf. “We better get going before it gets late. Are you sure you’re alright to walk?”

“Robin, it’s just up the bloody street! We’re not going to Greece.”

“Shh, alright you. Calm down. I don’t want to hear any complaining that I shouldn’t have made you walk.”

“Never,” Cormoran said cheekily, as they exited their office and headed toward the main door. 

Robin headed down the stairs while Strike locked the door behind them. He slowly hobbled down the well-worn iron stairs one at a time, wincing slightly with each step, and was relieved when he finally reached the bottom. He was slightly flushed from overexerting himself by going down two flights of stairs on a false leg, but Robin ignored the voice in the back of her mind that said _‘You could do that to him too.’_

After a bumpy tube ride and a short walk, the pair of detectives entered their favorite local pub, the Tottenham. They frequented it together and selected their favorite booth in the corner. It gave them the privacy needed to discuss cases without others overhearing. But tonight, Robin was tired from work, and so was Cormoran. Tonight, they wanted nothing more than to escape into the company of each other without the burden of the 9-5 grind spilling into their personal time.

Personal time. Is that what it is, when you go for meals, sometimes all three, tea and coffee, and road trips with your boss-turned-partner? The rational part of Robin’s mind said _‘Absolutely not,’_ though the emotional part said _‘Without a doubt.’_

Once seated, they removed their outerwear and Cormoran headed to the bar to order drinks and food; the typical pint and white wine, and two orders of chips to start. He returned first with the pint of Doom Bar and glass of wine and sat down across the table. Robin nodded her thanks and took a small sip of wine before leaning back into the padded fabric of the booth behind her. 

“Got anything going on this weekend?” Strike asked casually.

“Not really, just a few meetings on Saturday, and then my mum’s in town that night.”

“Ah, sounds good then. Been a while hasn’t it?”

“Few months now. We’ve just been so busy…and no, that’s not my thinly-veiled cry for time off if you’re about to ask.”

Strike smirked and took a generous pull on his pint. Robin watched as his lips met the icy glass and his tongue flicked the edge, waiting to taste the amber-colored liquid. His eyes met hers ever-so-briefly over the rim of the glass, but she quickly looked away to the bar, feigning interest in their food.

“Hang tight, Ellacott,” he smiled. “It’ll be there soon enough.”

How did he do that? He had the slightly annoying habit of being able to read her exact thoughts before she even expressed them. In this instance, she was thankful that he hadn’t noticed her ogling him as he drank. Robin took another sip of her wine and they sat in companionable silence until the bartender motioned to Strike for their chips. 

“I’ve got it!” Robin told him before he could even begin to get up. She was grateful for the brief reprieve from his presence. She was starting to realize that there were little nuances to him that made her feel things she hadn’t felt toward anyone in a long time. She noticed little things in the way he moved, spoke, and acted. The way he smiled at her with a sly little smirk. The way he playfully teased her. The way his eyes brightened, even in the low light of the pub. Robin shook her head and grabbed the baskets of chips and returned to the table. 

“Here we are,” she said, smiling as she set his basket down in front of him.

“Thanks.”

Robin returned to her seat and was pleasantly surprised to see Strike roll up the sleeves of his shirt. It wasn’t very often that she was able to see the more intimate parts of Strike, especially where his arms and legs were concerned. He was strong and well-built, slightly muscular in all the places that mattered. The hair on his arms was coarse and dark, but Robin didn’t mind. In fact, she was rather intrigued by it all. He was the complete opposite of Matthew in every possible way - tall, broad, and completely and unapologetically masculine. 

She took him in, pint in hand, once again bringing it to his lips. She observed without shame, unlike the first time he’d taken a pull. The way his fingers wrapped around the glass, with beads of moisture dripping down over them. The way the inside of his wrist flexed upon lifting it to his mouth. The way he gripped and tipped and poured. She drank him in, figuratively speaking. Oh, to be the liquid in that glass. To be the head of foam that tickled his lips and caught in his beard. To slide down his throat and kiss him all the way down his neck, being the source of his pleasure and relief. 

She shivered slightly at the thought of Strike consuming her the way he’d downed half of his pint in one go, with desperation and satisfaction. 

“Enjoying the view, Ellacott?” he prodded once he’d set down his glass. 

“Mmm?” Robin asked, attention fading, the blood in her ears roaring with lust.

“I asked if you liked what you saw?” He smiled impishly.

At that moment, Robin was grateful for the darkness of the pub to hide her face, which might as well be on fire.

“S’alright, I know I can put away a few drinks, but you should be used to this by now, Robin.”

She released a breath, relieved that he didn’t suspect her true motivations for the blank look on her face, or the bit of drool that had formed in the corner of her mouth. At this realization, Robin downed the rest of her glass of wine, while Strike watched with a wild look in his eyes. 

“You alright there?” He asked, mildly amused.

“Fine, great. Another pint?”

He nodded and murmured his thanks as she left to go the bar. She had to get away from the sheer magnetism of him, even if only for a moment. 

Robin took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and sighed. Gathering herself, she collected their drinks from the bartender and returned to the booth. It was going to be a long night...

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @thegreendress or @hidetheteaspoons!


End file.
